


Catch of the Day

by cupcake4mafia



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: AU, Gen, Humor, Not Beta Read, tons of dialogue but it's Nino so I couldn't resist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4872817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupcake4mafia/pseuds/cupcake4mafia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While putting in some unpaid overtime, chef Jun finally finds out who is responsible for the graffiti on the back wall of the restaurant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch of the Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Randy_Single_Butternub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randy_Single_Butternub/gifts).



> This was supposed to be a short drabble response to the prompt: _Ohmiya or Matsumiya ... Maybe something to do with art, except Ohno isn't the one drawing the picture this time_ ...and then my hand slipped and I wrote all of this. It also ended up being gen, buuut it's very likely I will do a sequel that follows through on Nino's cheeky flirting.
> 
> I'm also very sorry for this horrible title. I had nothing.

It’s almost three in the morning and Jun still can’t sleep. The two cups of coffee he’s had since midnight might have something to do with it, but mostly he’s just dreading Sakurai’s impending visit to the restaurant. It’s not that Jun doesn’t have faith in the new menu items he and Aiba have come up with - Sakurai has never had anything but praise for Jun’s cooking, to the point that these quarterly reviews are more a formality than anything. What really worries Jun is the wall.

It’s the service entrance to the restaurant, facing the service entrance to another restaurant. No customers ever see it, but Sakurai does every time he comes to check in on them. The wall has been tagged a couple times before, usually just with indecipherable script, but recently they were hit with something different, something Jun can only call artwork. The subject matter is ridiculous - robots, monkeys, creepy little children wearing chonmage - but there’s something strangely charming about it and the technique is undeniably impressive. The first time he saw it, Sakurai agreed it was fantastic work. Then he asked Jun and Aiba to call someone and have it painted over. Three months later, they still haven’t.

Tired of pacing the floor, Jun decides to head over to the restaurant. He does this sometimes before reviews; taking inventory or even just folding napkins. Aiba, in one of his rare attempts to actually use his manager status against Jun, has officially forbidden unpaid overtime. Ever since Jun moved into the apartment down the block from the restaurant, he’s had this idea that Jun needs to “have a life outside of work.” Jun appreciates and ignores this advice.

The streets are empty as Jun makes his way to the restaurant. He’s about to round the corner to the back entrance when he hears voices. He stops and listens.

“Why back alleys?”

“Ehh? What do you mean? Where else would I do it?”

“Why not bus stops? Bridges? Train cars?”

“Easy to get caught.”

“You’d have a much bigger audience, though.”

“Hmm.”

“You really don’t mind if no one sees this other than a few restaurant employees and a trash collector?”

They don’t seem like conversational questions. It’s almost like listening to an interview, albeit an informal one. Jun can’t bring himself to interrupt, even though he knows he should. Hearing the voice of the man whose vandalism he’s been foolishly protecting for months is too surreal.

“Well, places like this don’t get painted over quickly. I can actually come back and keep working.”

“That’s true. You’ve been working on this wall for how long?”

“Since...March? I think it will be finished tonight.”

Jun’s legs seem to move of their own accord and suddenly he finds himself standing in the alleyway, just steps away from two shadowy figures holding flashlights. Before he can even speak, they take off running.

“HEY! WAIT!” Jun yells, dropping his messenger bag so that he can chase after them.

One disappears around the corner while the other skids to a stop, hunching over like he might need to catch his breath. He’s built pretty small and skinny, Jun realizes, and that emboldens him to grab the back of the guy’s hoodie and yank him upright.

“Are you crazy?” the guy laughs. “I could have a knife!”

It’s the voice of the interviewer, not the artist. Jun’s heart sinks a little.

“You don’t have a knife,” he scoffs.

The guy starts to squirm away and Jun grabs his arm. He’s even skinnier than Jun thought. With his slight build and boyish features, Jun places his age absolutely anywhere between 16 and 25. Just as Jun’s getting embarrassingly distracted by this little punk’s face, a blue light in the corner of his eye catches his attention.

“A DV recorder?” Jun asks, incredulous. “You seriously go around filming him committing crimes?”

The kid’s expression changes entirely to something guarded and surprisingly creepy. He stops struggling against Jun’s hold.

“Filming who?” he asks, calmly.

“Oh, come on.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were filming the guy who’s been painting on our wall.”

“Oh, that?” the kid asks, raising his eyebrows. “I painted that.”

Like a reflex, Jun finds himself digging his fingers into the kid’s arm. The kid winces a little and Jun stops, surprised at himself.

“Look,” he sighs. “Why don’t you come inside and we can talk this out.”

To his surprise, the kid smirks at the suggestion.

“I don’t know,” he says, leaning back to look Jun up and down. “I’ve seen some videos that start like this…”

“The video you’ve been recording tonight, I’ll bet _that’s_ an interesting one,” Jun responds, reaching for the bag.

“Oh, are you a cop now? Do you have a warrant?” the kid snaps.

“I have a phone. I can _call_ the cops.”

“Gross. I thought you were more interesting than that.”

“Interesting? Me?”

“Yeah, you. You just invited me in, which means you have keys. So that makes you, what - manager? Coming in to work at 3:30 in the morning? Something interesting is happening there.”

“I’m head chef.”

The kid raises his eyebrows and Jun immediately feels foolish for saying it.

“I’m Nino. I’d shake your hand, but...”

Jun doesn’t realize until the second he lets go of Nino’s arm that this is probably a ploy. Nino doesn’t run though, just holds out his hand for Jun to shake.

“Just ‘Chef’ then?” he asks, overly friendly.

“Matsumoto,” Jun tells him. “Will you sit down and talk now?”

“I don’t know, will you cook something for me?”

“Don’t push it.”

Nino shrugs and gestures for Jun to lead the way. Jun does, picking his bag up off the ground as they reach the door, but he is careful not to turn his back to Nino until they are inside the kitchen and he’s turned on the light. He leans back against the island counter, crossing his arms, and watches as Nino coolly appraises the room.

“Do you want something to drink?” Jun offers.

“Can I see your wine menu?”

Jun rolls his eyes and pours Nino a glass of water. Nino thanks him with a cheeky grin.

“So your friend…” Jun starts.

“What friend?”

“The one you were filming.”

“I told you it was just me out there.”

“Talking to yourself in two different voices.”

“One of my talents,” Nino says, ducking his head in faux modesty.

That gives Jun an idea. He tears off a sheet of butcher paper from the roll mounted on the wall and lays it out on the island counter. Nino furrows his brow, confused, until Jun digs a pen from his messenger bag and sets it on top.

“Draw something for me.”

“Cook something for me,” Nino responds immediately, impressing Jun again with his poker face.

“You realize this isn’t my home, don’t you? I can’t just waste food.”

“It’s not a waste if it’s for _art,_ ” Nino objects.

“I can’t decide if you really believe that crap or if you’re just smooth.”

Nino smiles innocently, practically batting his eyelashes. “Can’t it be both?”

Jun shucks off his coat and throws on an apron.

“I will stir-fry some vegetables for you,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. “That is all.”

Nino steps forward and picks up the pen, tapping it on his chin thoughtfully as he stares down at the paper. Jun can’t help but be amused at how far Nino is willing to take this lie. It’s possible, of course, that Nino is as capable an artist as his friend, but Jun doesn’t believe he could be fooled by someone trying to imitate the unique style of the artwork he’s been passing by every day for months now.

Jun has already started prep when Nino finally asks, “What should I draw?”

“A fish,” Jun answers, keeping focused on his work.

“Any kind of fish?”

“Any kind.”

Nino is quiet for a moment, then mumbles under his breath “Maybe a killer whale…”

“Whales aren’t-” Jun stops himself, shaking his head.

“Okay, I’m going to start. You can’t look until I’m finished.”

Jun switches on the range and dutifully faces away from Nino as it heats up. Nino hums behind him as he draws. It’s not a familiar song but Jun has to admit there’s something appealing about Nino’s voice, even if he’s just using it to fill silence.

“Do you hear that?” Nino whispers, interrupting Jun’s thoughts.

Someone is jangling keys outside the door. Jun closes his eyes and groans. _Not now_ , he thinks.

Aiba swings open the door and surveys the scene with wide eyes. He’s wearing an over-sized sweatshirt and leopard-print pajama pants, and he’s wheezing like he might have run part of the way here.

“ _Matsujun!_ ” he gasps.

“Matsujun?” Nino repeats, giggling.

“Ms. Ito upstairs called me to tell me she heard yelling outside and that she thought someone had gone into the restaurant,” Aiba explains, closing the door behind himself. “I tried to call you but you didn’t pick up.”

“So you came here by yourself?” Jun asks, shocked. “What if it had a been a burglar?”

“Or a serial killer!” Nino suggests.

“Who is this?” Aiba asks, still breathless.

Jun chews his bottom lip, trying to come up with an explanation that isn’t “oh, this is some guy I just met in on the street.” He then realizes that Aiba is looking at the butcher paper, not Nino. Suddenly, Aiba begins to laugh hysterically.

“This is- This- This is AMAZING!”

Nino steps back and plants his hands proudly on his hips. Jun watches them both warily.

“What is it?” he asks.

“It’s _you!_ ” Aiba says, turning the paper around so Jun can see.

Nino has drawn a mermaid - well, a mer _man_ \- with all the artistic ability of third-grade elementary school student. It’s only obviously a merman because of the tail, and because of the simple consecutive waves drawn at the top of the page. The face of the merman is a bit more detailed than the rest, like Nino has been staring at One Piece manga long enough to at least mimic that style. The eyebrows are, _of course_ , huge, dark rectangles set at an angry slant.

Jun clenches his fist around his spatula - his _spatula_ , shit! He turns back to the range quickly, to save his vegetable stir-fry. Behind him, Aiba and Nino continue to laugh like old friends.

“Aiba, meet Nino,” he says, through his teeth.

“Nino, nice to meet you! Jun never lets me meet any of his _special_ friends.”

“He’s not a special-” Jun smacks his spatula on the side of his pan and grunts. “He was hanging around the alley with the guy who’s been painting on our wall.”

“Ahhh, no way!”

Jun takes the stir-fry off the burner and grabs three bowls. There’s just about enough food for all of them to share. He wishes belatedly that he had thought to turn on the rice cooker earlier.

“Matsujun and I love that painting,” Aiba gushes. “I never come into work from the front door anymore. I always want to see if something new has been added.”

“Seriously?” Nino asks.

His voice is different from before, Jun thinks. It almost sounds sincere. Jun interrupts the two of them by rolling up the butcher paper, to Aiba’s protests.

“No, no, no, don’t throw it away!” he begs.

“I’m moving it so we can eat!”

“Oh, good, I’m starving,” Aiba says, immediately perking back up. “I’ll get chairs.”

Aiba disappears into the dining area and Nino and Jun stare at each other from across the island, both at a loss for words.

“I’m a little confused,” Nino starts, tilting his head to the side. “All of a sudden you love the painting?”

“I never said I didn’t.”

Aiba shuffles through the door, somehow carrying three bar stools. Jun takes one before he can drop it.

“You love the painting,” Nino repeats. “So you came over here early in the morning to chase the artist away and hold his cameraman hostage?”

Jun smiles, about to gloat at Nino’s admission that he isn’t really the artist - not that his merman left any room for doubt - but Aiba interrupts him.

“You did WHAT?”

Nino gets to smile, instead, and Jun has to find the will to meet Aiba’s disappointed expression.

“I’m not _holding him hostage,_ ” Jun argues. "I just _cooked_ for him, for God's sake.”

“I guess even an underground artist can have these kind of crazy fans,” Nino sighs. “This is really great stir-fry, though. I mean it.”

“You are so-” Jun growls, but finds that he has no words for just what Nino is.

Aiba touches his arm, gently. Exasperated, Jun turns back towards him.

“I was just trying to talk to them and they ran off!” he explains, fully aware now of just how crazy he sounds.

“He said he was going to call the cops,” Nino adds, mouth half-full.

Aiba winces and Jun starts to feel a little sick. He’s been warned about his temper twice before. Both times Aiba seemed more dutiful than sincere, sandwiching the warning between praising Jun for his passion for his work. Still, Jun knows he has to be standing on thin ice right now.

“Show him your phone,” Aiba says, solemn.

Jun blinks back at him, surprised, then grimaces.

“It’s embarrassing,” he whispers, as though Nino might actually not hear.

“Matsumoto.”

Aiba’s using his most convincing stern face, which really only means he’s managing to not smile. It’s still enough to send Jun shuffling over to his messenger bag. He dismisses the missed calls and texts from Aiba and holds the phone out to Nino. Nino takes it, cautious. His eyes light up as recognizes the background image on Jun’s lock screen.

“He takes a picture of the wall every time we notice something new,” Aiba explains. “We’ve been thinking for a while about leaving a message for the artist to contact us, but the owner sometimes comes by unannounced so it would be too risky.”

“You wanted to _contact_ him,” Nino chuckles, still looking down at Jun’s phone.

“He wants us to paint over the wall, but we think it would be better if the front of the restaurant had a mural, too.”

“Are you even allowed to do that?” Nino asks, absently holding out his hand until Jun takes his phone back.

“Sakurai-san owns the whole building, so, yeah.”

Feeling awkward on the sidelines of this conversation, Jun starts cleaning up around the kitchen. He realizes with dread that his caffeine high is finally starting to come down.

“That’s not the same guy who wants you to paint over the wall?”

“It is. Sakurai-san is...a good businessman...but, maybe, not the most...stylish person?”

Jun snorts at the understatement. He could live to be 100 and never forget the afternoon he ran into Sakurai heading to the gym wearing a parka layered over another parka and had to smile and wave like everything was okay.

“I do think if we could show him something ahead of time, some art that fits the theme of the restaurant, we could convince him.”

“That’s why Matsujun wanted me to draw a fish.”

Jun drops his spatula in the sink with a clang, but it isn’t acknowledged.

“Shit, that’s too perfect!” Nino whines. “I wonder if I can convince him...”

“He doesn’t do commercial work, does he?” Jun guesses, deciding to let Nino slide on the nickname just this once.

“Bingo,” Nino answers, picking up Jun's untouched bowl of stir-fry and digging right in. “He works in a damn convenience store. We have to live in a studio apartment because he can’t pay his half of the rent any other way.”

“Then...this guy…”

“Ohno,” Nino fills in.

“Ohno-san, he is your...?”

“Documentary subject."

Jun averts his eyes. He could kick himself for trying to ask such an Aiba question.

“What if we didn’t pay him?” Aiba suggests, as though it’s a brilliant idea.

Jun slaps Aiba’s arm, but Aiba continues, undaunted.

“No, listen! What if the two of them ate here, for free, for one night every week?”

“The two of us?” Nino asks, surprised.

“Ohno-san needs an agent, doesn’t he?”

Moments like this, Jun is reminded how Aiba became manager in spite of that time he started a fire behind the bar.

“I have gotten him to do art for trade before,” Nino thinks aloud. “That’s how we got our sofa…”

“Maybe we could all have a meeting?” Jun asks, worrying that he’s pushing it.

“Maybe,” Nino pulls out his phone and begins tapping away. “We’re night people, though. That’s the name of my documentary, actually: Night People.”

“Spooky,” Aiba says, approving.

“Well, you are restaurant people. You all keep weird hours, too. Especially tonight.”

“We have a menu review tomorrow. Matsujun gets nervous and - OW!”

Nino looks up. “How is it you're allowed to hit him?”

“Off-duty,” Jun answers.

“Cute. Okay, he says he’ll meet you.”

“You’re texting to him right now?”

“Uh, yeah?” Nino laughs.

Jun doesn't know why he's so surprised, but somehow it doesn't feel like "Ohno" was a real person until just this moment.

“Does this happen a lot? He runs off and you stall to give him time?” Jun asks, not really sure how to feel about that kind of a friendship.

Nino sticks his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders a bit. “Every now and then. In the dark I can kind of pass for a student, so people usually end up letting me go.”

“In the _light_ you look like a student,” Aiba laughs. “How old _are_ you?”

“32.”

“Bullshit!” Jun and Aiba snap back.

Nino laughs and pulls his wallet from his bag to show them a driver’s license. Ninomiya Kazunari. Jun makes a mental note to call him Ninokaz at some point and see how he likes it.

“Oh-chan is 34,” Nino snickers.

“Seriously? What the hell are you two doing running around at night like little punks?” Jun scolds him.

Aiba’s hand is on Jun’s arm again, but Nino laughs - genuinely, uncontrollably - and Jun finds himself joining in.

"'Night People,'" Jun repeats, mocking. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Ohno-san must have been worried about Nino this time!" Aiba says, squeezing Jun's arm. "Since you held him up."

"Nah," Nino waves a hand in front of his face, still chuckling. "I already texted him while Jun-kun's back was turned."

"I'm 'Jun-kun' now?"

"I told him not to worry about me, that a good-looking guy was making me breakfast."

Jun does not think he could possibly roll his eyes any harder, so he grabs their bowls and shoves them into the sink instead.

"Is he always like this?" Nino asks, behind him.

"Well, he hasn't had much sleep..."

"Still in the room!" Jun reminds them.

"And you should go  _home,"_ Aiba insists, gently pushing Jun away from the sink so that he can take over washing the dishes.

Jun can't hold back a yawn, feeling like Aiba's words have chased the very last bit of caffeine out of him. His will to stay frustrated with Nino fading, he asks: "Are you just going to disappear?"

"Here," Nino hands over his phone.

Jun squints at the screen sleepily, entering himself into Nino's contacts as MATSUMOTO-SAN. Nino takes the phone back and quickly taps out a text.

"Now you're stuck with me," Nino teases.

All Jun can do is nod, too sleepy to bite back.

Then, everything is fuzzy. He vaguely remembers Aiba putting his bag on his shoulder and walking him home. He's not sure if Nino helped walk him home, too, or if he just has that tune that Nino was humming stuck in his head.

* * *

Jun wakes up again at 11:00 AM, an hour before Sakurai's visit. As he's scrambling to the door his phone beeps with an incoming text. An unknown number has sent him a photo of an open sketchbook - a drawing of a swordfish on one page and an octopus on the other. He smiles, saving the photos to share with Aiba later. Then, he notices Nino's text from last night:  _Good luck on the exam today, J! I believe in you~_

Jun stands frozen in the doorway, staring down at his phone. Never in his life did he imagine someone would actually give him a more obnoxious nickname than Matsujun. Nino is a kind of artist, after all.

 


End file.
